


Making memories

by SelenicSoul83



Series: Thominho Week 2016 [6]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Day 6, Holidays, M/M, Thominho Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenicSoul83/pseuds/SelenicSoul83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Thominho Week 2016. Day 6 - Holidays.</p><p>None of them remember the times they spend Christmas with their families. But Thomas is learning to cherish the new memories he makes after reaching paradise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making memories

“Minho, do you remember Christmas?”

The older Glader continued to draw circles in the sand. Water lapped at the beach, just short from reaching their feet. He didn’t look at Thomas as he answered, “I remember that it’s a thing. You know, how it sounds familiar and there are those memories that are just out of reach.”

Thomas nodded. Being in Paradise, surrounded by people that knew so much more about the world made it all the harder to bear that they’d never gotten their own memories back. Thomas could hardly talk to Frypan – or whatever he wanted to be called now – because of it. The guy had too many stories to tell.

“People were talking about it. Apparently it’s today,” Thomas said.

Neither him nor Minho really thought they’d miss it. Memories. Any of it; be it of their families, or the years leading up to their time in the Glade. They’d given up on those long ago. If anything, Thomas was certain he would be glad to never fully know the things he’d done.

Minho sighed. “So I heard.”

Tide was rising. The boys scooted back a couple of feet to keep from getting wet.

“There’s supposed to be presents, and a tree and decorations, and-” Thomas was getting upset. The way people talked about it, today should be a day of festivity and joy. Thomas felt no such joy. All he felt – all he’d been able to feel for the past month they’d been here – was emptiness. Because what little memories he had centered around a lot of people that didn’t make it here. His eyes filled with tears.

Minho sat watching him, nodding solemnly. “I know,” he said softly. He put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

Last night some of the adults had sat together to create what miserable gifts they could for the children. They’d delivered them at huts all throughout the night and early morning. When the kids woke up a couple of hours ago, they were ecstatic. At least they got to experience some of the things that were familiar to them, even when living in this new place with people they didn’t know and without the people they did.

“I can go check if they’ve any left for a shank like you,” Minho offered with a smirk. They were, after all, still kids.

Thomas shook his head, laughing. “No need, shuck-face.”

“Slim it, Greenie.”

“Good that.”

They held onto these words like lifelines. It was what bound the Gladers together even after all that had happened.

Minho was glad to see Thomas smile. “Well then let me get you something else, slinthead.”

He got up, but Thomas grabbed his hand. “I said I don’t need anything.” More than anything he wanted Minho to stay with him.

“I’ll be just a sec,” Minho promised. Thomas let go, turning to look at the sea with a huff.

A couple of minutes later Minho came walking back, his feet crunching the sand underneath. He held something hidden behind his back.

“What is it?” Thomas asked impatiently.

Minho grinned. “Not yet.” He walked closer to Thomas, sat down next to him – a tad clumsily with only one free hand to lean on.

Thomas looked at him expectantly. “Well?” he pushed.

From behind him, Minho pulled a small branch he must’ve snapped off of some tree. Bright, tiny flowers bloomed from it. He held it up above their heads.

The younger boy stared, unimpressed. “What’s that?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Ok, I couldn’t get the exact thing here. But come on!”

In a moment of belated realization, Thomas’s mouth started to fall open, but he caught himself in time. “Mistletoe,” he uttered. His cheeks heated up and he chuckled despite himself. “Seriously?”

Minho shrugged, seemingly not caring. The small tremor in his hand proved otherwise. “Only if you’re up to it.”

Thomas hesitated one second too long in which Minho let the branch drop slightly. He then grabbed Minho’s shirt, pulling him closer and pressing their lips together. Minho smiled into the short kiss.

Once they broke apart, Thomas was momentarily too flustered to hold eye contact.

Minho reached out and held his hand. “Merry Christmas, Thomas.”

The boy met his gaze again, tears still in his eyes but smiling nonetheless. “Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I writing a Christmas story in June? And why can't it be a truly happy one? The world might never know.


End file.
